


Ambrosia & Nectar

by Shanachii



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Anal Sex, Canon Gay Relationship, Co-Parenting, Even if I could control Greek mythology I wouldn't, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Parenthood, Pining, Slow Burn, This is explicit because I have no control over Greek Mythology, VictUuri, Victuri, You do you Greek Myths, consent is my kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2018-12-13 15:53:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11763261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shanachii/pseuds/Shanachii
Summary: “I want you, Yuuri. Will you accept that?”“Want me?” Victor nodded, eyes harder, hands still as stone on his body. Yuuri couldn't help it as an acidic, painful laugh cracked through his lungs. “Maybe you are mad then.”A smirk graced Victor’s lips as he shifted himself, leaning on his arm, face hovering right above Yuuri’s. The Prince could feel his lips ghosting over Yuuri’s in a kiss so faint he wasn’t even sure it had happened. Then the man pulled back, a drop of blood from his own cut on the God’s bottom lip, and he watched as Victor licked it away, lust in his eyes.“You have no idea.”Yuuri betrayed his country and family for the chance at love in a land far away. But Yuuri was not the only traitor, it would seem.Based on the story of Dionysus and AriadneGreek Myth AU!!





	1. The Pillars of Home

**Author's Note:**

> "Erastis" = lover  
> Crete = A city-state in Ancient Greece  
> Boeotia = A city-state in Ancient Greece  
> Thebes = The capitol of Boeotia

Yuuri woke in the shadow of a pillar. It stood tall, white and pristine, planted in the fine dusting of sand like the beginnings of a reaching vine. He blinked his eyes, adjusting, tracing the outline of the shape that blocked out the sun.

It reminded him of the pillars in the palace courtyard of Crete. He remembered his hand fitting into the hand of his mother as they circled the grounds. How his gaze was drawn up by the solitary columns of marble stretching towards the sky.

“It’s a stitch,” his mother had told him, eyes cemented to the base of the structure. “It stitches the earth to the sky, dirt to Divinity.”

Yuuri looked on in reverence. The image of the blue expanse of sky folding over him like silk echoed in his mind. The thought of the horizon – a tightly bound seam – enclosing him in the nest of Crete was a comfort.

Yet, when his mother spoke, there had been a sorrow in her eyes. A glint of longing, as though, with a single hooked finger, she would reach out and topple the pillars of the palace, rip open the horizon and fly through whatever space was left between dust and Divinity.

Yuuri had never understood that sorrow. He had no answer as to why. Now, turning over in his bed of dirt, staring at the flat unyielding line of desert and sky in the distance, Yuuri could feel a fraction of what he had see bubbling just beneath the surface of his mother’s finery.

Yuuri pushed himself on his hands, feeling the ashy textures of the sand beneath him. It burned and prickled on his palm, his knees, the soles of his bare feet as he stood.

Where, he wondered, had his sandals gone? Or his tunic? Or his purple shrug? They were missing, stripped away like the rest of his dignity aboard Theseus’ vessel.

Perhaps they had taken his clothes as he slept, limp with opium soaked wine. Even now, standing here, he could feel the poppy snaking through his veins. It dulled the endings of his nerves, that would have otherwise been screaming at him of a million different pains in a million different places: burning feet, burning skin, splintering chapped lips.

Still, Yuuri took a step, dragging his lethargic body through the cutting air. He tried to ignore the rising wind that blew fragmented rocks into his wounds and against his bare skin.

How long had he slept? From the creaking of his bones he guessed at least a day. The hollow pit of his gut told him it must have been longer. Much longer.

Yuuri blinked away his questions. They didn’t matter now.

Stumbling forward his shaking hand reached out to the pillar for support. A gasp of relief hit as his finger merely brushed the stone. The shaded side was cold and smooth, like being submerged in icy water. He fell forward, pressing his naked body to it for respite. He closed his eyes, grasping at the frigid feeling with a sigh.

This was how it ended. From birth the fates had devised this for him: a Prince reduced to flesh, far from home, falling to his knees in the emptiness, leagues away from anyone who could save or end him.

Silently, he accepted that. Silently, he fell. Silently, he wept, lungs punishing him with sharp pain for the action.

Never again would he see Crete, or his mother’s face or _him_.

Theseus. The man’s name sang of a promise all by itself. He was the one who had convinced Yuuri that he could make a trade with the Gods. Honour for a chance at escape. A father for a lover. A kingdom for a world. It was just too much to ask for and, apparently, too much for Theseus to give.

“Yuuri,” he heard his voice on the breeze.

The sound was smooth and ethereal. Not at all the way he was used to hearing it. Grounded. Raspy. Whispered in his ear.

“Yuuri,” again the voice came, closer, more real this time.

He must have been hearing things. He only hoped the hallucinations could be of something nice. Maybe they could be a comfort to him.

The shuffling of leather could be heard against the coarse sand.

If not a hallucination, then an assassin. Theseus could have sent him to finish the days of the Prince of Crete.

Maybe it was time to pick a God, pray for forgiveness. Yes…yes. That’s what Yuuri would do. But where should he start?

Something loomed over him, eyes piercing into his back.

_Forgive me Hera, the Mother, for betraying my blood._

A shifted leg brought the figure behind him down on the knee.

_Forgive me Zeus, the Father, for slaying my father and king._

A hand, firm and calloused, reached for his shoulder.

_Forgive me Dionysus, Patron of Crete, for betraying my country._

“Can you hear me, Yuuri?”

“Please…”

The figure waited, brows knit, frown prominent, as he ran a soothing hand down the Prince’s back. “Yes?”

“Please…forgive me.”

“Oh, my Yuuri,” the words came out dry and aching from the stranger’s throat. “My poor, poor Yuuri.”

Without a second thought, Yuuri was covered up by a thick wool mantle and scooped into strong arms.

“I’ll get you home, Erastis.”

Funny. Yuuri didn’t think he had a home. Not anymore.

 

* * *

 

“Is this him?”

Victor nodded, clutching the unconscious man to his chest. He could feel, Yuuri’s bones through the wool cloak he had wrapped around him. They stabbed into his skin all the way on the walk back to the ocean. It was a wonder he was still alive.

No, Victor thought. He had arrived in time; that’s all that mattered. Still, it was hard not to think about him bony, shaking and crouched on the ground, bare to the world.

“Prince Charming isn’t looking so princely,” Chris noted.

The two men fell into stride together across the ship, feet tapping on the still wet deck and the crew prepared themselves for passage to home

“Are you sure he’s the one you want?”

“I’m sure,” Victor answered, curt in his assertion. He had been questioned enough for even going after this man. Now that he had him he would not be pressed further. “Now order the men to take us home. The farther we are from this cursed island the better.”

Chris veered off from him and could be heard barking orders to the crew, leaving Victor to himself.

He turned his gaze back to Yuuri. He looked like he had scraped himself up from the bottom of Tartarus. He lips were pale, cracked and bleeding, his cheeks gaunt, the circles beneath his eyes purple from his drug induced slumber. Even his skin bore the marks of bruising and burning in it’s pink swollen state.

Victor adjusted him in his arms and brushed the sweat soaked hair from his forehead as they descended into the cool belly of the ship. He walked carefully on the splintered stairs in the dark and entered the musky room.

He hadn’t brought much – this was a small ship built for speed over luxury – but he knew he had enough.

Quickly and quietly, he went to work. Yuuri was laid on the straw bed covered by soft fleece as Victor lit the oil lamp and began to pour water from a jug in the corner into two separate bowls: one for a ragged cloth and one to drink from.

First he soaked the rag in its bowl before turning back to Yuuri with the drinking water. With one hand, he applied enough pressure to open the jaw before a hand slipped weakly around his wrist, holding barely any grip.

“Please…no more,” Yuuri whispered, eyes barely fluttering open.

“It’s only water, I promise.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not,” Victor said. Yuuri’s face twisted into as much of a scowl as he could manage until Victor got the hint. He raised the bowl in cheers before taking to large gulps from it. “See, it’s just water.”

Softening Yuuri eyed the bowl, lips smacking together in interest. Victor cradled the back of the young man’s head and helped him reach the water to sip from. Water lazily flowed from the rim to his lips and down his chin as he was unable to sit up enough to avoid the spill. Victor couldn’t help but follow the trail of water down his jawline, over his neck, to the planes of his chest.

Yuuri coughed and gagged as he raised the bowl a tad to high in his distraction.

“I’m sorry, Love,” he chuckled, setting aside the water for now. “Are you alright?”

Yuuri didn’t answer, just stared. That would have to be a yes.

Not bothering to press on for conversation, Victor turned and slid the cool cleaning water over to him as well. Wringing the cloth, now heavy with fluid, he raised his hand and came in closer. He leaned over his patient, dabbing first at the sweat and grime on his forehead before curling the rag around the back of his neck.

Yuuri shivered and sighed. This was exactly what he needed. His eyes closed for a second, forgetting his situation and horrible state just long enough to let his guard down. He felt the back of a wet hand brush lightly across his cheek and jumped a little, reopening his eyes.

“Don’t wake up for my sake,” Victor said, not taking his hand or blue eyes from Yuuri’s face. “Don’t worry. You can rest in safety.”

Yuuri knew he couldn’t afford to listen. A drink of water was not enough to prove innocence.

“Who are you?”

“A friend,” he replied. “You can call me Victor.”

“Victor…” he let the name sit on his lips. “You called me Love. Erastis.”

Victor traced his fingers over the raven locks at Yuuri’s hairline, taking some time to form a response.

“I did,” he admitted in a low, hushed tone. “Because I love you, Yuuri.”

“You know me?”

“I do. You know me too.”

“Do I?”

“Yes,” Victor affirmed, moving in closer. “In fact, you prayed to me on that island, didn’t you? You asked for forgiveness for betraying Crete.”

Yuuri eyes widened as he went through the list of names. Hera for his family. Zeus for his father. Dionysus for Crete. Dionysus, the patron. Dionysus, God of wine, lust and madness.

There was nothing mad looking in this man. On the contrary, he was soft and warm and kind. Nothing rough like the tales of the wild hunter that Dionysus was. His hair was silver, long and tied back in a sleek braid. His eyes were liquid blue like a melted sapphire. His frame, while tall, broad and strong, was not imposing but protective. He was not the Mad King of Wine.

Perhaps then it was Yuuri going mad.

“My Lord– ”

“Victor,” the God corrected him gently. “That’s the name my mother gave me.”

“Victor then,” Yuuri gulped down any protest he might have had. He tried to scramble to a sitting position but found a strong hand placed firmly on his chest kept him from moving. “I’ll accept whatever punishment you have. I killed the king. I was seduced by the enemy. I deserve– ”

“I don’t care what you deserve,” Victor stopped him, voice weightier than before. “I want you, Yuuri. Will you accept that?”

“Want me?” The God nodded, eyes harder, hands still as stone on his body. Yuuri could help it as an acidic, painful laughed cracked through his lungs. “Maybe you are mad then.”

A smirk graced Victor’s lips as he shifted himself, leaning on his arm, face hovering right above Yuuri’s. The Prince could feel his lips ghosting over Yuuri’s in a kiss so faint he wasn’t even sure it had happened. Then the man pulled back, a drop of blood from his own cut on the God’s bottom lip, and he watched as Victor licked it away, lust in his eyes.

“You have no idea.”

* * *

Hours passed. Then days. In the cabin beneath the deck Yuuri couldn’t tell how many. All he had was Victor’s words to determine time.

“We’re almost there,” he would say reclined on furs beside the bed, sipping at something he wasn’t sure was alcohol or not. “Be patient, Erastis. We’ll be home soon.”

Yuuri imagined that their definitions of soon might be very different. Dionysus had been around for thousands of years, before the time of even the most ancient city-states. They said his mother was a tribal princess from a country whose ashes Thebes was now built on. He couldn’t be sure of the truth of this but it did confirm that even the most conservative estimate placed his birth before the concept of record keeping. “Soon” may be within the day. “Soon” may be within the year.

Regardless, Yuuri didn’t really have a choice. He was rendered immobile. By what Victor told him was the second day of their sea passage, Yuuri could sit up with the help of throw pillows that were kept in a linen chest. By what Yuuri guessed to be the third day, he asked if he could walk around. Victor had refused on account of bad weather.

“Do you hear it?” He had whispered, wrapping Yuuri in the warmest blankets they could find. He held a finger to Yuuri’s lips, hushing him so he could hear the creak of the boat, the pulse of the sea, the ricochet of rain on deck. “This one’s a force of nature. I wonder who pissed in Poseidon’s goblet.”

Yuuri pressed his lip into a thin line.

“Could it have been me?” Yuuri murmured. “Theseus is his son. I escaped his justice.”

“No, Sweetling, it’s not you,” he laughed, pressing a chaste kiss to Yuuri’s head. “He bears his son no great love since he named his city for Athena. Besides, my sex life has never been of any great interest to the Pantheon.”

“Is that what I’m for?”

The air was heavier now. For once, Yuuri could see Victor unsure of himself. He opened his mouth, wordless for a second, two seconds, then three. It must be hard for him, expressing to a chew toy that his purpose was to be chewed on.

“Not expressly,” he landed on the most distant reply he could find.

Yuuri would have asked what he planned for him but suspected that answer would be just as clouded. So, he sat there, trying not to imagine himself once again giving into the whims of a man with enough power to kill him in boredom.

It was after a long sleep the next day that a crew member came down in Victor’s stead after he had left to get rations. Yuuri had not seen him before but he was undoubtedly high ranking. He stood tall in the presence of a Prince, the man a God had claimed as his lover. He held out his hand, unflinching to help Yuuri up.

“Hello, my Prince,” he said with a mischievous grin. “Victor hasn’t left your side for quite some time. He must be rather taken with you.”

Yuuri wasn't sure what the man expected him to say. Maybe he wanted him to blush like a maid, become angry at the insinuation. Honestly, Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to care enough for either of those reactions.

“Where is he?” he asked, sitting up and taking the hand.

The man pulled, the hair of his thin mustache and beard curling further as his smile widened.  Yuuri stumbled into the man’s waiting arms, weak in the knees for a second. The crew member linked his arm around Yuuri’s shoulder, balancing him on his side.

“He said you wanted to take a walk,” The man said, testing their evenness with a few steps. “Besides, he wanted to show you something.”

The climb up the stairs was as steep as Yuuri expected. His still sore feet hitting the rough wood wasn’t what he would call the most pleasant feeling in the world. Yet still, he climbed. An escape from the damp innards of the ship and the promise of a sight to see pulled him to the door frame.

Hissing in the bright light of day, Yuuri shielded his eyes from the sun. The sky had cleared and gulls flew swiftly over head. The birds were a sure sign of land. His heart rose to his throat. Land. Victor’s use of the word “home” lulled him into a strange state of bliss as he remembered where they were supposedly headed. Where was home for Victor? Where did he think home could be for Yuuri?

“Yuuri, my Love!” A voice called, brighter than he had ever heard any voice before.

Yuuri shifted his attention to Victor, standing regal port side of the ship. He was beautiful, platinum hair blazing in the sunlight, hair let down and free except a single braid framing his angular face. He had changed as well. He traded his white tunic for a deep red – like blood and wine – and a suit of ornate leather armour basted with gold thread in patterns Yuuri’s eyes couldn’t begin to follow.

“Thank you, Chris,” Victor addressed the man who had helped Yuuri up as he strode over. “I’ll take him from here.”

Yuuri found himself passed off into arms that felt far more eager to have him there. Both hands placed affectionately on his waist, Yuuri found himself reeled in, chest-to-chest. He could feel the hard leather of Victor’s chest plate through his own tunic, the warmth of his fingers, paddling on his sides. He was like a boy who had just brought back a trophy from a hunt: ecstatic and impatient.

“How did you rest?”

“Well,” Yuuri said, following Victor’s guide as he walked backwards towards the port side, not breaking contact for even a second. “You seem happy.”

“You make me happy,” the God shot back, smile lighting his face.

Yuuri tried. He really did try not to smile. Despite himself, he ended up betraying a smirk at that. He was mad. Truly and brilliantly mad. There was no denying that.

“What did you want to show me?”

Victor’s back hit the side of the ship before he turned, arm draping around the younger man’s shoulder to reveal the view.

Before them lay a portside town, bright and vibrant. Bright white volcanic rock and lime stone houses littered the beach. People stood by the docks, cheered from paddle boats, crowded the beach and shallow waters, cheering for the boat. Green mountains, ripe with the swelling of summer greenery bordered the cozy town on one side. On the other was the glistening blue water, warm and tropical, matching the colour of Victor’s eyes.

“What is this place?”

“Where I was born, Boeotia’s finest port, just outside of Thebes,” Victor turned his attention to the people, waving to them, eliciting the roar from the mob. “This is home, Yuuri.”


	2. The Tribute of Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What can I get you then?” Victor asked, working through a particularly brutal knot at the arch of his foot. Yuuri winced and groaned, watching the slender fingers knead at him. “Clothes, weapons, land, money, what do you want?”
> 
> “Right now?” Yuuri hissed through his teeth as waves of exquisite pain shot up his legs as  
> the knots finally began to unwind. “Answers.”
> 
> “Answers?”
> 
> “Answers.”

Lace as fine as a spider’s web. Silk dyed in deep shades of red and purple. Glittering gold chains and piercings encrusted by jewels Yuuri was sure he could cut his teeth on. Finely worked bronze swords with firm leather handles for comfortable use. Ornamental pottery sat in one polished wood chest; thick-cut furs and bronze chest plates in another. There didn’t seem to be a pattern to anything laid out before the young Prince. The only common trait all these gifts seem to have was what Victor had expended to achieve them. A lot. He was sure of that much, at least. Yuuri reached out a hand, running his fingers along whatever was in his reach. Soft, hard, rough, smooth, warm, cool, solid, frail. It was a cluster of finery he couldn’t be sure he deserved. What had he done to earn this? What would he have to do to pay this debt? Around him servants with faces he didn’t recognize, voices that sang praise and smiles he didn’t believe held up individual pieces they thought might win his favour.

“This one came from across the sea in the east,” said one, smoothing out a long crimson robe. It was trimmed with gold thread on the edges and had long, trailing sleeves. A masterpiece of artistry unlike anything Yuuri had ever seen before. He found himself wondering absently if he knew anyone the robe would suit. It was too delicate for his taste, too ornate for any mortal to wear without being over-shadowed. Perhaps Victor. He could imagine him now: platinum hair plaited down his back, squared shoulders holding up the fabric with a strength beyond anyone else, long, pale neck emerging from the neckline to curl up towards his angular jaw. He would look at home in it, Yuuri was sure.

“And this is from the smithy of a foreign king,” rang another. Balanced in the man-servant’s hands was a blade. It was not bronze like the weapons found in other kingdoms of Greece. Instead it shone, silvery and delicate beneath the light of the lamps in Yuuri’s temporary lodging. It was pretty, he’d admit that much. It also looked light, flexible. Wielded by the right warrior, the blade would dance, that much was clear. As his eyes followed the curved line of the blade the servant went on. “It’s steel from the north. They hammer down the metal to make a sheet and then fold it for strength. This one was folded over four-hundred times and sharpened for a day and a night.”

Impressive but useless. Both were useless to him. In truth, Yuuri had never been trained with a sword, shield, bow or lance. He was the youngest child of the royal family; his duties never aligned with war. Neither did he have any grace for bearing himself in so rich a garment. He wasn’t like his mother, seated at long tables with old men, meant to dazzle the crowds with silence and beauty. Yuuri was meant for something different, darker, than the rest of his family. Even now, he could still feel the loss of weight on his right hip where a long spool and ring of keys once sat. The keys were his sword, the spool his thread. They worked for the task that had been given to him and his father never thought to give him anything else. He needed nothing else to guard the labyrinth.

Except a stronger will, he thought. He could have used that. No amount of discipline or planning could have prepared him for what came his way. No key could protect him, no thread could guard his heart or body. When Theseus had arrived, handsome and strong, brave as a lion and built like an ox, Yuuri had felt unsure. The man was greatness embodied. The eldest child, the favourite son, a warrior and beautiful, all the things Yuuri was not. It wasn’t love that had driven Yuuri to Theseus’ quarters the night before he was to be given to the minotaur. It was need. A need to possess the man overcame Yuuri. If Theseus could be his, this perfect semblance of masculine heroics, then what would that say of him? It was a selfish desire, one born of spite. In turn, he had been left behind in the depths of the night on a barren island. No clothes, no food, no water. He wasn’t even left with a knife to end his suffering. That was fair. He was a traitor son of a man who had been murdering Athenian children for generations. It was only fitting that Theseus, Prince of Athens, should betray him.

“Do you like these?” Yuuri asked, raising his gaze to the two servants. They were small, pretty things. One a girl, younger than himself. She was slender and tan with fire-kissed red hair cut just above her shoulders. The other was a man, looking to be around his age. His skin was darkened by days Yuuri could only assume were spent far south of here. His eyes were wide, brown and inquisitive and his hair feathered like a raven’s wing. Both looked confused at his inquiry as they shifted uncomfortably. They didn’t seem to want to answer. “What are your names?”

“Mila, milord,” said the girl, dipping her head quickly and wearing a practiced smile. “I am a nymph in the service of His Grace, Dionysus.”

“Phichit,” answered the man, meeting his eyes. “I joined His Grace in the East when he passed through my homeland recruiting.”

“I see. Then keep these. Think of them as a gift from me,” he glanced between the servants once more, their mouths agape. He turned his head watching the other serving people digging through the tribute for things to present to him. “In fact, why don’t you all take something. I don’t need any of it.”

“But His Grace meant these for you,” protested Mila, frown apparent on her doll-like face.

“Then they are mine to give,” he shot back, sitting back in his chaise and leaning a cheek on his hand. He would not be indebted to a stranger. He would not trust another man on virtue of being beautiful and powerful. He had been burnt once before. “Take them and leave. I’d like to be alone.”

Bowing, the servants backed away, taking the chests and presents with them. Finally, Yuuri was alone with only his thoughts in this small, unpainted room, over-looking the sea.

When Victor had docked the ship in the port Yuuri was not sure what to think. The people had cheered, roaring like a pride on the return of a king. But there had been something else amongst the sound of joy and laughter. They were watching him as he followed Victor down the ramps, up the docks and over the streets. He felt naked, wearing only a thin white tunic and bundled in blankets he had dragged up from his place in the boat. The people had expected him, been told of him. Now they were inspecting their master’s conquest, like a newly bought stallion. How well would it carry him? How pleasantly would it ride? These were questions he had not seen in Victor’s eyes, thank the Gods. But here he was on display as goods. He couldn’t be certain he measured up.

“They love you,” Yuuri had noted, absently looking through the sea of new faces.

Victor stood close by. His arm kept Yuuri fastened to his side as they walked over the cobbled streets. He was smiling out to the people, bright and experienced in this greeting process, it seemed. With hundreds, maybe thousands of years under his belt, Victor must have become an expert at coming and going from the island. He wondered if he was the same way with people. He seemed to keep close company with mortals, after all. He must have greeted many people through his lifetime, and said goodbye to many more. “They’ll love you too, in time.”

Yuuri had doubted that when he said it. Yuuri still doubted it now, hours later.

He had been deposited ceremonial into this room, people and presents arranged to surround him, when they arrived at a sweet little inn. The room Yuuri now found himself alone in was not spacious or luxurious. Clearly, it wasn’t meant to be a permanent stay. He doubted the God would whisper promises in his ear, offer him gold, jewels and silk then keep him in a place as simple as this. That left one question though: where did he mean to take him? There were plenty of stories of the Gods taking human lovers and just as many stories of their fate. Some married them off immediately after into comfortable lives, others hid them away in remote homes far from roaming eyes. Yuuri had even heard stories of Zeus turning his paramours into animals to hide them from other suitors and jealous spouses. He hoped none of those stories would apply to him.

Yuuri would have thought further through the subject, tried to glean what was planned for him, had he not been interrupted by a loud voice booming from the halls outside. It was _him_. Yuuri couldn’t help but smirk as Victor plowed through the door, flustered and ungodly in even the shallowest sense of the word. His leather-studded armour had come off since the boat ride, leaving him in nothing but his velvety red tunic and his leather sandals. His hair was still down, although his braid had been undone and his blue eyes were ablaze. They reminded him of the material Phichit had presented to him earlier – steel, was it?

“Erastis.”

“Dionysus.”

“Victor,” the man corrected, brow furrowing over a face that was meant to look stern. It did not.

“Is there something wrong?” Yuuri asked, avoiding letting the name pass his lips. He knew it would give the other man the upper hand if he played by the book. Considering he was an omniscient deity, Yuuri thought he already had too much of an upper hand.

“I saw your attendants with the gifts I gave you,” Victor responded, stepping out of the doorway and towards a wood table across the room. Smoothly, he poured warmed ale from a jug and into two cups before approaching Yuuri and holding one chalice out for him. “Mila is dancing in your robe by the foyer and Phichit has ruined three tapestries with your sword.”

“They’re not mine now,” Yuuri said, waving away the offered drink and watching as Victor shrugged and gulped down the goblet before starting on his own drink in sips. “I gave them away.”

“Didn’t you like them?”

“They were fine,” he answered with a shrug.

“Fine,” Victor murmured the word, sitting himself on the end of Yuuri’s chaise. The Prince drew his feet towards himself, making sure there was enough space between them on the sofa. He watched as Victor sipped from his ale before curling his hair around a finger of his free hand. His face was handsome but, more importantly, amusing when he was frustrated. If it hadn’t been heresy to even think it, Yuuri might have said he was pouting. “I was hoping that the finest collection of goods in this hemisphere might be more than _fine_.”

“Well, they weren’t. They were just fine.”

Yuuri squeaked as he felt a hand grasp his ankle and bring his weary, scarred feet into Victor’s lap. With a sigh, the older man started to rub at the tender soles, looking blankly across the room without giving a second thought to Yuuri’s reaction.

“What can I get you then?” He asked, working through a particularly brutal knot at the arch of his foot. Yuuri winced and groaned, watching the slender fingers knead at him. “Clothes, weapons, land, money, what do you want?”

“Right now?” Yuuri hissed through his teeth as waves of exquisite pain shot up his legs as the knots finally began to unwind. “Answers.”

“Answers?”

“Answers.”

“Answers to what?” Victor put his cup down on the stone floor beside the chaise and turned his attention back to Yuuri, both hands wrapping around his reddened feet.

He met Victor’s eyes, still steely yet warmer somehow. He seemed willing to give him answers in the stead of jewels and for that Yuuri was grateful. He still didn’t know what was safe to ask, however. Victor had been so dodgy on the boat. He couldn’t understand where he stood. Now was no different. Was he a pet of sorts, a slave, a prize? How did Victor know him? Why did he save him? All these questions buzzed through his mind yet all that could leave his mouth was: “Why?”

“I remember the last time I was on that island, the one Theseus left you on. Naxos, it’s called. It’s a damned place, always has been.” Victor sighed, moving on in his ministrations, rubbing circles around the swollen joint of Yuuri’s ankle. “I woke up there one day, no memories, no strength, no hope, and saw nothing but a corpse lying beside me. She had her gut ripped open, had been left in the sun for days, smelt like rancid flesh. Not a pretty sight for a child.”

“I spent years on that island. Never eating, never drinking, never sleeping. I never needed to, but I was always hungry, and thirsty, and tired.” Victor’s hands moved up, gripping the lower half of Yuuri’s calf. The muscles there were hard and worn. He knew from the shiver Yuuri gave that it probably ached beneath his skin. He went straight to work, kneading there, searching until he could find the source of the pain. Then he applied pressure to the offending muscle sinew. “Finally, one day, I was approached by a woman. She was the first other living thing I saw in my entire life. She showed me things, horrible things, things that made me throw myself into the ocean in madness. I washed ashore on Crete and you know the story from there.”

And he did. It was a story every Cretan child was told. The God Dionysus had washed up on their shores, insane and power hungry. He had promised the people of the island wealth and fertility in exchange for a place to hold his power. The Cult of Dionysus began there, spreading as the God travelled. Still, Crete remained one of his greatest sources of worship. He was irrevocably tied to their history, as they were to his.

“Why are you telling me this?” Yuuri’s voice was small and dry, shrivelling beneath the heat of Victor’s touch, his words, his eyes.

Victor raised his fingers up his leg, a hand smoothing out the muscle on either side of Yuuri’s thigh. His breath hitched as he felt the curved fingers slip past the hem of his tunic. Thumbs pressed into Yuuri’s flesh, massaging circles into the soft part of his body. Victor leaned in closer, eyes still on his work but his face was close enough to touch. All it took was a shift of his weight for Yuuri to be drawn into Victor’s lap, their foreheads pressing against each other. Blue eyes stared into his now, an arm snaked around his waist, a single hand nestled itself between his legs but went no further.

“Hera was the one who came to Naxos for me. She was the one who banished me there in the first place. She couldn’t have a bastard of Zeus on Olympus. She drove me mad with no home to turn to,” he whispered, voice low and full of purpose. “And you, you had nothing on that island. Rejected, abandoned, homeless, lost. I wanted to show you things, Yuuri. Wonderful Things. Things that could drive us mad together.”

Slowly, touching him as though he were glass, Victor let his hand wander further up Yuuri’s thigh to the cotton wrap around his center. He hovered his fingers over the laces, picking at them experimentally as Yuuri ached with a feeling he couldn’t place emotionally. Physically he knew what it was though. It was there and growing more obvious by the second.

“Would you like that, Erastis?” Victor’s voice came hoarse from his throat as he pecked a kiss at the shell of Yuuri’s ear, nipping playfully before he travelled across his chosen partner’s jaw. “Because I’d like to–”

“Victor!” Yuuri’s body froze up in a way that made him realize he had been practically melting before. Through the opened door came the attendant Yuuri had met that morning – Chris? The man stood, apparently unabashed at the position he had found his master in. “The horses are ready. We can leave whenever you’re done here.”

“Hmmm,” his eyes never left Yuuri’s as he contemplated his options. “How about it, Erastis? Would you like to be done here?”

* * *

Yuuri’s answer had been easy to give. Victor had not said a word, only smiled and guided him out of the inn, thanking the owners with a dazzling smile and an obscene amount of coin. The ride inland started from the inn’s doorstep. Yuuri was given a dapple-grey gelding, slender in physique, to ride along side a caravan of others. Some drove carts pulled by wide built asses and mules. Others sat in the back or ran along side the riders, chattering away with the company for the hours of travel ahead of them. Yuuri made sure not to do any more than a trot as he rode, as children kicked balls and chased each other, easily finding their way underfoot of the horses and adults who marched.

“It’s quite a sight, isn’t it?” A bright voice called out from behind him. Up rode the familiar servant from that morning, the one who had fancied the steel sword. He wore the weapon now at his side, cradled by a skillfully crafted leather scabbard, studded in jewels Yuuri would struggle to name. He looked the boy over once more, seeing that man had not sustained any cuts or bruises from the dangerous antics Victor had told him of. He was glad.

“I hear you ripped some tapestries,” Yuuri said, slowing himself so they walked on equal footing. The other man’s steed was not as tall or athletic as his own, in fact, it seemed quite a bit older. He had to keep his horse’s natural pace in check to ride side-by-side with the servant.

“And shattered a decorative plate,” he laughed. “They didn’t have a proper courtyard for training and the halls were much too cramped.”

“So why not wait until you had the space?”

“Because it’s been so long,” he sighed. Phichit looked up, face turned towards the high sun, eyes closed, smiling in a way that could only be described as sad. “My father used to train me to dance with swords like this. They’re light and versatile, not like the bronze slabs you have here. Wielding them is an art rather than a necessity.”

Necessity indeed. The city-states of Greece were a tumultuous environment. No one could leave unscathed. Every way he looked as a boy there were men, tall and strong and barrel chested ready to kill with weapons they were born into. Family swords, spears made as monuments to their names or just pitch forks that had been thrown into their hands as children when they were told to defend. Defend what exactly, Yuuri couldn’t say.

“You’re a duelist then?” Yuuri asked, watching Phichit’s tan hand drape over the hilt of his sword.

“No, a dancer,” he corrected. Yuuri raised his brow at his companion’s commitment to this metaphor. “I actually dance with swords.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“Of course it is,” the man winked. “That’s why it’s fun.”

The ride went on like that into the cooling of afternoon. Orange bled into the horizon of the west as evening trailed behind them. Beneath the vast expanse of sky, hill country quickly approaching, Yuuri found his mind wandering once more. Where was he being taken? It was not the scenarios he had mulled over before. If he were to be pawned off after the God was bored Victor wouldn’t invest as much as he already had in his keeping. If he was meant to be locked away then he would not have so many people allowed to interact openly with Yuuri on this ride. And the extreme case of being cursed and made to take another form was all together implausible. After all, Victor had seemed so…interested in his current shape.

Yuuri tried desperately not to think of the grip of those foreign hands massaging there way up his thighs earlier. He tried to pretend he couldn’t still feel his fingers ghosting over his skin. He tried even harder to swallow down the heat those ideas flared in him. He couldn’t be sure that this man – no God, no creature – was trustworthy. He probably wasn’t. In the worst-case scenario, it would not be uncommon for a favoured human to be violated, mutilated and punished in the name of entertainment. There were even stories like that of the poor Adonis, raised like livestock for the pleasure of a Goddess. At the end of the day, that’s all humans ever were: livestock.

He thought back to his mother, that mournful smile on her face, tears prickling her eyes. He thought of the way she looked at the door in Crete. It was not one of the ornate doors of the halls, draped in gold and jewels and carved with murals of heroic stories. It was a door that lead to nowhere. Nowhere she was allowed to go. It was nowhere she would want to be. It was everywhere she needed to be. Worst of all, when she turned, those tears still streaming down her face, she saw her youngest child – her son, her boy, her Yuuri – carrying the only key in existence on his hip. Beside it was the spool of thread, ready to serve to anyone Yuuri chose to bestow it upon. His mother used to beg on the worst nights, the nights when the wails and roars from beyond the bronze door were too loud for either of them to ignore. He never once slipped, even as she beckoned.

“Yuuri,” she would cry. “The light of the Gods.”

He would choke back any emotion that phrase would bring him. The meaning of his name – light of the Gods – was an invocation. A reminder of stars. Stars that had been buried and silent long before him. It was an insult in the face of his father and the Gods. It was hope for a child who had been lost.

“Asterius.”

Asterius and Yuuri; the stars and the light of the Gods. The stars are the light of the Gods. They were one and the same. That still never shook his resolve. It brought shame to him now. His weeping, heart broken mother was not the one he betrayed Crete for. Theseus was. Strong, capable, unwavering Theseus. Theseus who had never even asked for the key or the spool. That’s how Yuuri knew that he deserved what he got. Theseus, however, did not deserve the satisfaction of his betrayal. He owed him his life after they left Crete. He owed him far more now.

“We’re almost there,” Phichit called. He rode just ahead of Yuuri now. Somewhere between their idle chattering and Yuuri’s unpleasant recollections the man had managed to sneak there with his old plough horse. He smiled brightly over his shoulder and gestured for Yuuri to follow the path he cleared to the front of the group.

Yuuri followed, craning his neck and catching a glimpse of an upward slope ahead of them. At the top, past a clearing of followers and disciples, were two figures. They were perched on the hill, mighty and powerful with the sun basking on them from the west. The sunbeams combed through a mass of platinum hair and Yuuri knew at once what was waiting for him.

Without a second thought Yuuri rode in stride to Phichit, nodding his thanks for the company, before digging his leather clad heels into the sweet spot between his horse’s flank and torso. Up, up, up he went, heart racing, eyes fixated past to the mass of silver hair. He could feel gravity tightening it’s gasp as he asked his mount to make a rough uphill gallop and it obeyed, chest heaving in a way that echoed its rider. Then he was there, rearing his horse beside Victor, looking down an unfamiliar incline and his face turned warm.

“I said before that I wanted to show you wonderful things, Yuuri,” he heard the voice, seeping in a venomous joke only the two of them knew the wait of. “How’s this for a start?”

The sun bloomed over a small, hill valley, bathing rows upon rows of cottages in his glow. Red roofs and white walls lined dirt streets, cradled by wild flower beds for medicinal use. Past that were fields, green turned to gold beneath the fire of the descending daylight. Those golden vines reached for the sun, getting their last drink for the day. The swelling green orbs of grapes not yet ripened shrank back against the foliage until they were ready for the harvest. And past those fields stood the mightiest sight of all. A villa, larger than any summer home he had ever known, carved into two hillsides and built up from there. It dwarfed the palace of Crete by more metric units than Yuuri could count from there. It was gold washed, white marble, with the green of overgrown land curling around the pillars. More foliage draped itself over the top like a veil. A garden on the roof, Yuuri guessed. It looked tamer. The structure was a marvel – a man-made hill amongst a village of means.

“It’s a good start,” Yuuri whispered, not being able to stop himself from submitting the grandeur of the moment. “A very good start.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping this chapter cleared a few things up. I'm trying something new by making it longer. Let me know if you liked it. It took longer but I think it gives you more to read in the gap, y'know?
> 
> Anywho, I love feedback. Tell me how it's going so far. What do you think Victor's looking for from Yuuri? It may seem obvious but I've left a couple hints.


	3. The Treasure of Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What would you do to keep them as they are now, Erastis? Fed. Clothed. Sheltered. Safe. Happy.”
> 
> Yuuri swallowed. “I couldn’t say.”
> 
> Victor sat back down in his chair, leaning into the cushioned back and watching fondly as the feast went on. A hand slipped onto the back of Yuuri’s neck. He felt Victor’s thumb rubbing gently back and forth over the column of skin around his curved spine. For the first time since they met, he felt a touch meant to relax him work as he braced himself against the feeling, muscles softening and walls coming down.
> 
> “I would do anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abba = Formal word for father

Yuuri was not a stranger to feasts. In fact, he had grown up in a family that excelled at holding them. The festivities of Crete's palace were large and frequent. People came from every corner of the known world with gifts and offerings, hoping and begging to be allowed entry. Ever since he was little, Yuuri could remember hordes of strangers - from the richest to the poorest - lining the streets outside the gates. Thinking back, however, he realized that didn't mean much. The gates were never without visitors of sorts. His father, Minos, always found some occasion worth celebrating. Astronomical events, Holy days, a visiting friend, the death of an enemy. Guests flowed through the halls of his home like blood through veins. It should be no surprise then, that his father's favorite event was also commemorated by such feasts.

The thought of that was enough to make Yuuri shiver. The hands toying with fabric on his shoulder froze as he did. "Sorry, did I pinch you?"

Mila, the girl with red curls and wide eyes. She was still wearing the robe he had given her, he noticed. It fit her well. She was delicate looking in the flowing silk. Beneath it was a different story. From the muscles rippling under the skin of her bare arm Yuuri could tell this elegance was practiced. Her petite frame was achieved rather than given. A nymph, she had called herself. A divine creature. He wondered how long it have taken her to cultivate her unassuming form and that tight bunching of muscles he was sure could kill him with a flick.

"No, I'm fine," he said, clearing his throat. "I'm just not used to wearing these kinds of thing."

That wasn't a lie.

His father never saw the need to flaunt him before his guests. He wasn’t strong and intimidating like his brothers were. Gold plated armor would be wasted on him. Likewise, he did not have the soft, curved, shrinking body his fragile looking sisters possessed. Or rather, were sculpted to possess. They were starved if they ever looked too large, force-fed if they lost their hour-glass form. Yuuri was grateful he had not been born with bodies like theirs; if he had his father would no doubt insist on him maintaining it. No, Yuuri was unassuming. He was plump enough to be considered youthfully attractive in an entirely conventional way. But he was not handsome like the carved, heroic soldiers; he was not beautiful like the young male lovers of the courtiers, or those same courtiers’ demure daughters. He simply was.

Maybe that was what won him his place, Yuuri had often thought. He was not the child anyone would expect to be the sole guard and navigator of the labyrinth and its secrets. That position was valuable to his father. It had kept him alive and comfortable under his tyranny. That was more than he could say for his half-brother.

This glittering, vivid purple gown Mila had dressed him in was not customary for his position back home. He found himself questioning whether it was even appropriate for his position in Victor’s house.

A boy lover, he juggled the syllables around in his mind. That was what he was now. He recalled seeing many in Crete’s court. They were numerous and varied, the only commonalities being their youth and gender. They ranged from the disturbingly young to some only a year or so older than Yuuri. All men of import kept one, and it was no taboo. Common knowledge dictated that each man had a wife and a boy lover. Sometimes they were apprentices, servants, social climbers, but they were always attached to their lovers by the hip. When they grew old enough to no longer be desirable to their masters, they were not simply discarded either. They were married off and found themselves their own young men to pamper. Thus, they too had a wife and a boy lover. On went the cycle.

It would stand to reason, then, that the God of wine would want a lover of his own then. These young men were status symbols as much as any wife might be. Finding himself a prince to hold on his arm was simply a logical step to take; he would want his pet to be well-bred.

This costume, however, seemed to be too much for that. It was something the Lord or Lady of the house should wear. He was adorned in the God’s signature purple shades and bore his branded signal in gold on the clip holding his tunic: a leopard, stalking through a loop of grape vines. This suggested more than just ownership; it meant solidarity, unison, togetherness. It meant more than Yuuri was able to believe.

“You look so handsome,” Mila chirped, stepping back to admire him like art she had just put in a frame. “Not many could wear this so well. I thought he was mad when he asked for such a rich shade of purple but he was right: it does bring out the gold in your eyes.”

“He?” Yuuri asked, looking himself over in the full-length mirror.

“His Grace. Victor. Dionysus.”

So, he’d specifically requested this? He claimed to know what would suit him, what would lighten his eyes, bring out his slick raven hair. An interesting presumption to make. It was a presumption, nonetheless.

“Is there something else?” Yuuri said, undoing the leopard sigil from his shoulder and letting the purple sash fall off his body like water over a cliff.

Mila tried to catch the velvet, only just winding her fingers around it before it hit the ground, hastily, she began to gather the material in her arms. “Something else, my lord?”

“Yes,” Yuuri stepped away, walking towards the ornate bed at the center of the room. He tugged the clean, pressed first layer of tunic carelessly over his head before discarding it over the furs adorning his furnishings. “Something less purple. Less gold. Less heavy. Less…just _less_.”

“There are robes from–”

“No.” Yuuri pushed the second tunic down his body and stepped his legs out of it.

“Gowns that we–”

“No.” Even the shift they’d given him felt expensive, he noted, preparing to rip that off as well.

“What do you want?!” Mila shrieked, dropping the trail of clothes she had been picking up and turning Yuuri around before he could get everything off.

Yuuri pressed his lips into a line and thought. Want? He wasn’t used to answering that. For now, though. “A short tunic. Something that breaths. Preferably dyed black; I like to go unnoticed.”

Mila blinked before sighing, almost grumbling as she turned to leave the room. “No wonder he likes you.”

* * *

It was just as he had asked for: a plain dark tunic made of a light fabric that was not too restricting. He liked the familiar feeling of cotton hanging off his shoulders. It was a grey tunic that flowed loose over his body and reached just above his knees. He had tied thin brown leather around his waist to tighten it in a make shift belt. Mila sighed when she saw the outfit completed.

“You’re sure about this…my lord?” Yuuri couldn’t help but hear the wavering in her voice. It was not fear but something else that drove the question. As she looked up at him through black painted lashes and smiled a sweet smile he couldn’t help but wonder about.

“I wouldn’t wear this if I wasn’t.”

“As long as you don’t undress again, my lord.” Did Yuuri sense a jest in her tone? He was about to laugh when he heard the creak of the door and Mila’s voice ringing past the frame to someone in the hall. “The Prince is ready.”

It didn’t take a glance for Yuuri to know who it was that had entered the room. It didn’t take even a second to understand what the door closing behind him meant. Mila’s footsteps were a muffled, distant sound through the wall. She had left and now _he_ was here.

“Dionysus,” Yuuri said, resisting the urge to turn and face his visitor. The silence that followed closed in around him like arms encircling his lungs. He held his breath waiting for a sound, a motion, anything in response.

“Are you here to escort me to the banquet hall?”

This time a single step was taken towards him. It was a padded step, soft and heavy all at once. He froze in place as a stream of hot air hit the back of his knee with the sound of an exhale. And a purr.

Yuuri swung around and stumbled back at the sight of a leopard. It was lean, muscles taught as it took step after step towards him until he was backing into the wall. Large, gold feline eyes sharpened as he slid down with stone at his back until he was eye level with the beast. Their purring becoming a deep trill as it sniffed at his face, mouth opening and fang peeking out between its thin leathery lips, grazing his skin.

As it raised its head, nuzzling and nipping the loose bit of hair at his forehead in curiosity, Yuuri could see its neck outstretched. Nestled in the spotted fur was a delicate chain link. It was gold and sleek, something you’d expect to find on a lady rather than a wild creature. Placed carefully at the end of the chain was a crystal ring with a small roll of paper placed inside. The beast had stopped its gnawing at his hair but kept its chin rested atop his head, as though patient, like he was meant to see this.

“Is it for me?” He asked before shaking his head with a puff. As though the creature would answer. Gently, he reached out, feeling his knuckles brushing against the soft pelt of the animal as he unsheathed the paper and freed it from the fold. To his great relief, the beast stepped back, slinking its way to Yuuri side and opting to rest its heavy head on his lap. Yuuri patted at the feline’s head, confused, but nonetheless grateful it had not come to do him harm. “Thank you.”

 _Her name is Makkachin_ , the message declared in sprawling script. _She and her ancestors have been my dearest, most loyal soldiers for some hundred years. She is entrusted with the guardianship of all I hold dear. I hope you come to love and trust her as I do._

_Forever Yours,_

_Victor_

“Soldiers,” he muttered aloud, looking down at the fearsome thing as it cuddled up to him like a kitten. She reminded him a great deal of her master. In legend, they were wild and violent. In reality… “I imagine you’re here to take me somewhere.”

Makkachin looked up lazily, wide eyed, like she had only just remembered a task that had been given to her. With a thrust of her muscles she stood once more, Yuuri following with one hand on her back, feeling the coil of her spine as she moved.

He was pleased to have a silent guide as they travelled through the twisting halls. It gave him more time to take it in. The opulent archways overhead, statues and murals carved into the otherwise smooth walls. It all told a story of wealth beyond measure. More importantly, it told a story of a life beyond measure. How many generations of stoneworkers, architects, masons and artists had it taken to build this place? Furthermore, was it finished? With thousands of years behind him and thousands more ahead, surely Victor planned for further additions and maintenance. What would the villa look like in a hundred year? What would it look like in twice that?

The image of immortal the progression of the building constructed by mortality was comforting to Yuuri as he entered the hall, Makkachin at his side. It was comforting as he was faced with a bustling room, painted with images of divine battles on the roof and mortal festivities on the floor. It was even a comfort as a booming voice reached out to him from across the hall, a voice that was eager and terrifying all at once.

“Yuuri!” Victor bellowed from his place at the head of a long table.

“Yuuri!” The crowd bellowed, laughed and cheered in answer.

The sea of people parted and nudged him forward, not ever coming too close lest the growling Makkachin bite their hands for the perceived threat. He moved through the crowd like a knife through butter until he was guided to a cushioned seat on Victor’s right. A place of honor he wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve.  

“I see my Makka found you alright,” the God started, not hesitating to run his roaming fingers through Yuuri’s slicked back hair. He took a glance down the other man’s body before continuing. “Did I send her too early? You weren’t done dressing, were you?”

“I am done dressing,” Yuuri replied, leaning back in his seat and clutching at the fur on Makka’s neck like an anchor. “I prefer this.”

“Comfortable. Practical.” Victor pinched at the fabric bunching by his shoulder, rubbing the material between his fingers before giving the sturdy belt a tug. “If I were to send you something like this would you wear it?”

“Why?”

“Because I’d like to make a habit of getting you things you like, Erastis,” he purred like one of his predatory cats. “I want to know how to provide for you.”

“How generous.” When Victor looked up, eyes meeting his, he knew he had slipped. He simply couldn’t keep the disdain for that idea from coating his voice.

Yuuri cleared his throat, looking across the long table to see the faces of Victor’s inner circle feasting away, not a care in the world. Most of the faces he did not recognize, save a few. Phichit was on the left side further down, chewing meat off bone like he hadn’t eaten savory food in years. Mila sat only a couple chairs down on the right. Her goblet was filled to bursting as she drank, looking like she was complaining about something to the woman beside her. It was only after a second that he realized she was probably complaining about him.

Then there was Chris. He sat immediately to Victor’s left and was in the process of pouring wine into a cup as he reached out, passing it to Yuuri. “You’ll be wanting this, Little Prince.”

Yuuri liked to drink. He liked to drink as much as any Greek man he had ever met. Drinking with strangers, however, would leave him unguarded. He gulped and took the glass, making sure to keep his lips closed as he took false swig. He would observe first, then decide if partaking was wise.

Victor smiled, apparently appeased by the perceived willingness of his guest of honour, and stood. He raised his own glass high.

“Friends!” He called, as the rowdy party simmered down to listen in murmurs to their host. “We’re here today to welcome an addition to my household. An addition that I hope makes this place a home.” He glanced at Yuuri, warmth pouring from his softened face. “A home for all of us.”

Feet slammed against the floor, thundering with applause at that. Yuuri only blinked. Household? Home? It sounded like he was welcoming a bride rather than a lover.

“We are all of us, very different in nature,” Victor went on as the stomping mellowed. “Man, woman, mortal and divine have eaten at my table, lived on my land and sought refuge from Kings of heaven and earth. I hope that today the vineyard can be a true symbol of freedom from the whims of man and God alike. I hope that from today forward you can be safe.”

Yells of affirmation and more stomping and clapping came from the table and crowds. Yuuri could feel the room shake as he looked up at Victor. In their excitement, he doubted the others had noticed but the God’s face had dropped. He looked over them, stern and unmoving. Before Yuuri could stop himself, he had reached to tug the robe draped over Victor’s shoulders.

“Dionysus?”

Victor did not hesitate to look down. His eyes were moist and deep with emotion as he bent over. His silver hair curtaining Yuuri’s face as he kissed his forehead as sweetly as if he were a sacred gift.

In a low, dulcet tone he whispered in his ear. “What would you do to keep them as they are now, Erastis? Fed. Clothed. Sheltered. Safe. Happy.”

Yuuri swallowed. “I couldn’t say.”

Victor sat back down in his chair, leaning into the cushioned back and watching fondly as the feast went on. A hand slipped onto the back of Yuuri’s neck. He felt Victor’s thumb rubbing gently back and forth over the column of skin around his curved spine. For the first time since they met, he felt a touch meant to relax him work as he braced himself against the feeling, muscles softening and walls coming down.

“I would do anything.”

* * *

The night went on like that. Hours of conversation over conversation. He got to know the faces better as they shared course after course of their meal.

Sara, a nymph who tittered away with Mila all night long, was a gifted songstress. Both had been former hunters of Artemis before they had been seen by a pair of hunters as they bathed. The women had escaped untouched by the men but their mistress did not take kindly to even the men’s eyes defiling the girls. They had been forced to flee with one another and succeeded with the help of Sara’s brother, who was already a disciple of Dionysus when they had left. They had been welcomed into the God’s circle without question after that.

Then there was Phichit. The first thing Yuuri was surprised to learn was that he really did dance with swords. He had put on quite the display half way through the night.

“Perhaps I’ll give you lessons,” he had teased. Yuuri was tempted to take him up on that offer.

Chris was a longtime friend of Victor’s. He was a satyr he had met long before the God had been welcomed into the pantheon. He was rather loose lipped on the early stories the two shared, much to Yuuri’s amusement.

“He was quite reckless in his youth,” Chris said, pouring his friend a second glass to quiet his protests as he told his tale. “He wrestled a bear to impress some young thing he had his eye on. Turned out the bear had been her mother and she thought it was terribly rude of him to presume to kill her.”

“Atalanta,” Victor groaned. “She was a strange one. Would have made a good hunting partner.”

“But you just had to go and kill her mother.”

“ _Adoptive_ mother.”

It seemed that distinction had not made much of a difference to the girl as she had immediately chased the men off after that incident.

Victor had pointed out others who were central to his court. Isabella, a woman from the east with a gift for trade and her husband, a tall, tan, muscular man who looked like he stepped out of a story book.

“JJ,” Victor had called him, rolling his eyes. “A man who’s forgotten he’s only half God.”

Emil and Michele, the latter being Sara’s brother, were horse masters. Emil managed the working horses while Michele managed those meant for show and war. From what Yuuri could tell they were quite the mismatched pair, but Victor assured him they worked best together.

Finally, he was pointed towards Georgi, a somber man dressed and painted in dark colours like he was one of the haggard fates, not a young man. He was informed he was Victor’s half-brother by Zeus.

“He’s very sensitive,” Victor said.

Yuuri couldn’t imagine sensitivity from the brutish figure sitting in a shadowy corner of the room. He’d take the God’s word for it, though. He was his brother; he would know him best.

Time rolled by until, after two cautiously downed glasses worth of wine, Yuuri began to tire. He had not drunk his fill, yet travel and introductions made him weary. It was easy enough for the master of the house to notice this too.

“Should we retire for the night?” He asked, leaning over and whispering in Yuuri’s ear.

A shiver went down his spine at the sound but he nodded. He had been expecting this, he had to remind himself. This was the price he paid for the extended life he was given. He had been saved and now it was his turn to repay the kindness. The God would expect his prize.

Still, he couldn’t help the chill of fear that hit him as Victor stood, offering a hand and helping him up, sweeping him out of the hall with the crowd cheering at their exit. Suggesting howls followed them as they moved, Makkachin following at their heels. Was it a comfort or not to have her there with them? If he resisted she might be his punishment. If she was truly there to protect him, however…

No, it was a fool notion. Even if the leopard turned against her master she wouldn’t last long against a God. It would be best to allow him his pleasures. Lie back, stay silent. Fear stung in his heart as he thought that. He could only pray he could use some ploy to deter him for the night.

After a few moments, they came to a door. His private chambers no doubt. Only the colourful painting of grapevines adorned it. No statues bordered the room, no murals carved into it. It was plain painted oak. Beautiful but intimate. Perfect for personal chambers.

With one arm Victor opened the door and stepped aside, hand gesturing for Yuuri to enter first. It took one brave step – one step that made Yuuri sweat like he had run to Marathon and back – for Yuuri to be encased in this new place. The chamber was snug, less like the room he had been left in to change and more like what you might find in a stone lodge. The walls were unpainted and uncarved. Candles were lit, bathing the room in a shallow heat to replace the unset fireplace embedded in a stone archway on the left. To the right was a low table, surrounded by soft furs and pelts to sit in. Past that was a window, curtained in some soft brown fabric he couldn’t name.

Then the bed. He bit his cheek when he saw the bed. Awash in candlelight it looked equal parts inviting and ominous. Three steps rising at the center lead to it. It was well carved with wood pillars holding up a translucent white canopy. The sheets were made of fleece and silk, the pillows were fluffed, the covers folded back to beckon its occupants.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Victor said softly as he walked past him, flinging his cloak carelessly on the floor as he went with purpose to the curtains in the corner of the room. Perhaps he meant to draw them back, let the moonlight in, set the mood.

Yuuri understood the order and cast his eyes down, letting his feet guide him to the bed. He fixed his eyes at the foot of it as he untied the knot of leather around his waist and let the belt fall. Next, he kicked off his leather shoes and tucked them beneath the bed so as not to trip over them later. With a deep breath, he clutched the hem of the flowing garment between his skin and the air and then–

“Abba?” The sound was small, light and sleepy.

Yuuri’s head swung around to see Victor, pulling back the brown curtain to reveal two children nestled into a reading nook. They were both hunched against a window, blinking lazily as the larger, dark haired boy was shaken awake by the smaller blonde one in his arms. They looked like baby birds in a nest and Victor seemed proud and protective, like a father eagle standing above them.

He gaped at the picture in front of him as the blonde boy reached his soft little arms up into the air, repeating the precious little sound he had made before like less of a question and more of a request. “Abba?”

“Go find your mother, Otabek,” Victor said to the other boy, as he gathered the smaller one in his arms. “I imagine it’s far past your bedtime.”

With a nod, a scurry and a weak bow the boy was out the door leaving just Victor, Yuuri, and the child in the room.

Victor sat himself down in the nook, child still cradled in his arms, taking up all the attention in the room. Yuuri couldn’t help but approach, Makka following behind him and curling at his feet as he sat uninvited beside the God. Victor didn’t so much as turn.

The child did take note though, clutching to Victor’s robes as he peered coolly at Yuuri. Perhaps it was the shock of being woken from his nap and having his friend shooed away but Yuuri swore he could see the child pout angrily.

“Were you waiting, Yuri?”

Yuuri opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by the boy. “You said I’d get a gift, Abba.”

“You do get a gift,” Victor chuckled and placed a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “This is Yuuri. You, me, Yuuri, we’re all going to take care of each other now.”

Yuuri skootched closer, watching as the child, Yuri’s eyes fluttered shut. “Yuuri? Why Yuuri, Abba?”

“Because Yuuri’s mother loved him as much as I love you,” Victor answered, tucking a golden lock of hair behind the child’s ear.

He wanted to correct him. The meaning of his name in Greek was a punishment for Minos, not a proclamation of maternal love. But looking down at the small boy in Victor’s arms, seeing him – the light of the Gods – pure and sweet and untouched by any need for vengeance, Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to speak.

A little hand reached out to him, plump fingers curling leisurely in Yuuri’s direction. He felt weight, the weight of a treasure he had never felt before, being propped into his lap as the child crawled to him. A cheek pressed into his shoulder. Yuuri’s hand rose instinctively to support the boy’s head.

“That’s a good gift,” he mumbled sleepily. “Thank you, Abba.”

Yuuri blinked and felt hot tears burning at his eyes as he clutched the child. He felt suddenly full and empty all at once. He was in a dome where nothing else existed. It was just him and this little boy clutching to his clothes and breathing deep, heavy breaths against his chest.

“Yuuri,” he tightened his grip on the child, trying to tie himself up in this surreal isolated moment before anything could pull him away. “Yuuri.”

Finally, their eyes met. He was facing Victor, the son of this God sleeping in his arms and he couldn’t figure it out. He had been saved, he had been cared for, he had been trusted with this gem he held. The tears fogged his vision as they spilt over the rim of his eyes.

“Will you stay?”

He suddenly understood what Victor had meant, looming over the table, solemn and sober as he gazed out at the crowd.

_“I would do anything.”_

Anything.

It seems he would. He had gone to an island to save a traitor, risking the wrath of the Gods. He had introduced him as an equal, a partner to his people, risking their judgement if this arrangement yielded nothing. Now he was betting his heart and the heart of his son that Yuuri would stay. For what?

Home.

_“A home for all of us.”_

Yuuri had gone so long living in a broken one. Victor had gone longer looking for one. This child had a chance to know home from now until forever. That was a chance Victor would do anything for. With a swelling in his heart he nodded, moved by the request of the other man.

“I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have taken a lot longer with this chapter mostly because I absolutely wanted to perfect my introduction of little Yuri. And don't worry, will get plenty of little Otabek in later chapters too. 
> 
> I really hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Feedback is very much appreciated!


	4. The Food for the Sold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Had it not been yesterday when he was being held? When soft hands had pressed cool water to his flushed face, when a low voice rumbled a lullaby in his ear, when he had been a welcome guest in a warm bed? Now Victor had somehow become a man with a scared stranger standing before him.

Victor remembered the first time he saw a leopard. He had always loved things that were strong, things that were beautiful. The huntress he had seen before him was both of those things. He remembered watching the spring of her back as she jumped from her rocky perch, the gloss of her slick, spotted fur beneath the rays of the sun. She was the first living thing he had seen in days after washing ashore on this strange, dry continent. With the flames of madness still licking at his mind, Victor called out to her. It was an unintelligible sound, more like a cry than name. He remembered how her eyes had sharpened when she saw him: small, young, thin and alone. He must have been quite the sight for the hungry cat. She ran towards him and Victor had not the sense to run or to fight or to do anything but reach out.

The details were fuzzy. He couldn’t recall how the leopard’s head became caught between his two small hands. He couldn’t remember why he had thought to do that. But the image, that was clear. The visual was always clear. He wasn’t sure whether it was a blessing or a curse that Hera had left that part of his memory unaltered.

He had watched his small, scarred hands curl. His fingers gripped until the skull of the cat became misshapen. It struggled but made no noise. At least, he heard no noise. Just the hands of a child crushing thick, spherical bone.

He cried, set the lady cat down. He shook and screamed and heard voices, those voices that told him he had done well. There’s more, they told him. In the bushes, there was more. But there were no bushes in the desert. No green. No shrubs. Just wasteland.

Stupid boy. Blind boy. Mad boy. You cannot see. He couldn’t tell whether he had said these things to himself as he beat his little fists against his own head and tore at his matted white hair.

It didn’t matter much, it would seem. More came to him. He was curled on the floor when he saw the small, blind things trying to suck at the teat of a corpse. They looked like him. They were like him. Some ill-advised action of a raving God had killed their mother and left them stranded with her corpse.

He wondered if Zeus ever looked down at his mother’s body, looked down at the growing thing that spent years sitting beside her. Had he ever felt tempted to reach out to the stupid boy, the blind boy, the mad boy, and scoop him up the way Victor had those predators in the making. Had he even felt guilt when he saw him. Did he even see him?

Victor was too young to know and too old to care.

All he could really take from that day, the moment of his first kill, was the essence of mortality. He had brought it down like a heel on a bug when he saw that thing – bigger and prettier than he was. He had seen it work naturally as he raised those cubs, and the cubs of those cubs, watching every generation drop like flies.

What did it say about him, even after being faced with the pathetic timeline of a mortal thing, that he still watched on in terror as two of these fragile creatures occupied his bed? It was the most horrifying thing he’d ever seen. The leopard mother had fallen so easily. How little pressure would it take for his boys to just…break?

These were thoughts best not explored. With a kiss to their foreheads and a final smile, he moved away from their sleeping forms in search of a distraction. Warm ale, that would do nicely.

* * *

Time was a strange thing for Victor. It was a measurement he never truly had a strong grasp on. There were seconds that stretched on as years to his twisting mind, and years that passed in moments. He couldn’t really remember another way to perceive things. Was there another way? There seemed to be. He swore once that he had left Yuri as a newborn in a cradle one morning and returned to find a toddler that night. A toddler who cried out at how much he missed his father.

It was the same now. Had it not been yesterday when he was being held? When soft hands had pressed cool water to his flushed face, when a low voice rumbled a lullaby in his ear, when he had been a welcome guest in a warm bed? Now Victor had somehow become a man with a scared stranger standing before him.

Victor was spread out on the furs beside the table in his room. _Their_ room. Or at least, it was supposed to be theirs. Yuuri had taken to sleeping in one of the guest rooms the last few nights. He would spend his days sitting quietly in the corner as Victor managed the villa or Yuri played with Otabek. Then he’d slink back to the bed he had claimed for himself: dutiful and silent. He did all that was asked of him with small bows and little smiles. It was horrifying.

“You called, Dionysus,” Yuuri said standing in the doorway. Phichit and Mila stood on either side of him. Victor could see their heads darting curiously past Yuuri as he blocked their view of the table. Those two had always been his most amusing troublemakers. Victor could see why Yuuri had taken such a liking to them.

“Yes,” Victor beckoned Yuuri forward with an open arm. He didn’t bother to correct Yuuri on his name. He seemed to prefer the distance it brought him. That same distance burned and scratched at Victor’s mind. But he’d endure it. He had to. “I wanted to take a meal with you. I asked the kitchen what your favorites seemed to be and had them brought here. I hope you don’t mind.”

Yuuri shifted and glanced over at Phichit behind him. The young disciple answered his look with a large smile. Encouraging. Yuuri turned back to Victor, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ve been eating with Yuri since I got here.”

“I know,” Victor beamed. “He talks of only two things when I see him: cats and you.”

This seemed to relax the younger man. He pinched the fabric of his wool chiton, eyes cast downward. Pink coloured his features, standing out against the gray of his clothes. “I’m glad he speaks well of me.”

 _Well_ may not have been the word Victor would have used. He certainly spoke _enthusiastically_ about Yuuri.

“He told me my posture is wrong!” Yuri had said to his Abba when Victor visited the nursery. “He made me and Otabek stop wrestling. He made us play with dolls instead!”

“I like the dolls,” Otabek said, holding up one of the stuffed cloth toys Yuuri had sewn together as a distraction for the boys. Victor took it in hand and examined the red swatches of clipped silk they wore. He smiled at the place where stitching went from delicate and fine to messy. “Yuuri let me help make them.”

“That’s lovely,” Victor had chuckled, before turning back to his own child. “Did you help Yuuri make them too?”

“No!” Yuri screamed. “I’m a soldier like you Abba! I don’t sew and I don’t play with dolls.”

“I like the dolls,” Otabek chimed again, completely ignoring his friend’s tantrum.

Victor remembered the arguments becoming quite circular after that.

“I saw the dolls you made for the little ones,” Victor changed the subject swiftly. “They were charming.”

Yuuri liked to be praised. Not on his beauty or clothing or general appearance. He found that whenever Chris had noted the skill of Yuuri’s penmanship or Phichit commented on how easy he was to teach when they danced Yuuri would open. He would brighten and bloom like a flower in spring. Yuuri liked to earn his compliments. Victor hoped his attention to the dolls would help.

“My nurse taught me to make them,” he said, a smile finally adorning his somber face. “I’m glad it came in handy. I’ll have to make more for them some time.”

“Yes, I think that would be wonderful,” Victor encouraged. “We can see about getting you more material after we eat, yes?”

There was a pause.  Victor remained still and poised as he gestured to the other side of the small table.

“Yes,” Yuuri finally answered, taking a step inside. “Phichit, Mila, may we have a moment?”

Bows and curtsies gave way to giggles as the two closed the door. Yuuri blushed. Victor could only imagine what gossip those two would be spreading by the time they made it to the dining hall. It had certainly not been the most delicately worded command Victor had ever heard.

“Sit,” the God said in a tone he prayed was more inviting than it was demanding. Yuuri did as asked, nodding in appreciation as Victor poured some wine and offered it up. “I’ve missed you terribly, Erastis. We haven’t spent any time alone together since you arrived.”

Yuuri hummed acknowledgment. It was an absent gesture as he perused his dining options. Victor had thought of everything. Flat bread with fruit spreads and olive oil. Sweet glazed pork split into finger sized portions and arranged like the petals of a flower. Goat cheese and soft bread sharing a platter. Yuuri looked pleased enough with the food. It was simple but Yuuri liked simple, as far as Victor and the staff could tell.

“Everything was produced locally,” Victor adds with pride as Yuuri picks at bits of fruit and pops them into his mouth. “The land is extremely fertile. I’m told my presence helps with that, seeing as I am a God of virility.”

“A God of virility with only one child,” Yuuri noted with a smile. “What must the other Gods think of that.”

This was not the sweet, sputtering answer Victor had expected. It was better. Victor brightened at the response, leaning a cheek on his hand and watching as Yuuri filled his plate. He seemed more comfortable, at the very least. Stronger, at best. Good. He needed that. Yuri needed that.

The princeling, having filled his plate, began to eat. He had quite the appetite. Victor couldn’t help but want to feed him more. It would be marvelous. He could spread a feast out for the just the two of them, light candles, lounge in furs. He could call for spices and drinks and dishes that he had come across during his wanderings long ago. He wondered if Yuuri would like that better than the jewels and golds and fabrics he scorned on a daily basis. He hoped so. Victor wanted nothing more than to spoil the thing, to watch a real smile pass over that contemplative face.

“How do you like the food?” He asked, as Yuuri sucked sugar glaze off his fingers. Victor couldn’t help but let his eyes linger on the man’s puckered lips before an answer was given.

“It’s fine,” Yuuri replied. Fine. Yuuri liked to use that word.

“Is that so?” Victor pushed, trying to keep his laughter from bubbling up at this act of small teasing Yuuri took some joy in. “Is there something else you like better, Erastis? Something I could get you?”

“I love sausage,” Yuuri answered. He batted those perfect lashes. Licked sauce from those marvelous lips. Victor hoped Yuuri didn’t see the way he clenched at his open silk robe. He hoped he didn’t see the bob of Victor’s throat when he tried to swallow down the images that stirred.  

“What kind should I call for?” Victor asked.

“Loukaniko platter, please,” he said, attention returning to his meal. “It’s the way mother used to ask for it. She always said sausage was no good until it was cut up.”

He hoped now that Yuuri couldn’t see the sting in his chest that sent a thrill through his muscles. It wouldn’t do to let him know a threat had hit home.

Victor reached behind him, pulling at a string that dangled from the wall. Off in the kitchen, rooms away, a little bell would chime, and someone would come to hear Yuuri’s food preference. But for now, it was just the two of them: a stranger and a god.

“She’s quite the woman,” Victor muttered, desperately trying to close the gap between him and his partner. Yuuri only looked up from a plate of fruits, blinking curiously. “Your mother, I mean. I met her a handful of times. That was long ago, though.”

This did not have the warming affect Victor had hoped for. His Yuuri smiled but it was shallow and cold. Yuuri’s eyes looked through him like he was wistfully watching the horizon of a home long past.

“Before Asterion?” Yuuri asked, looking back down to the food. His eyes went thick like frosted glass, misting the windows to the young man’s soul. Victor regretted his choice of subject instantly.

“Yes,” Victor confirmed, trying to think back to the happier parts of his memory. “She was a talented sorceress. But that’s to be expected; she was more God than human, after all.”

“Only a human grandfather,” Yuuri noted, something warmer flickered over his face before it could be quickly extinguished. “Divinity never did her much good, though. It brought us nothing but trouble.”

Victor hummed in thought. Yuuri was right, of course. He’d watch the downfall of the sorceress queen of Crete. She’d been born to the sun God and a nymph daughter of Poseidon. She and her sister, the witch Circe, were powerful and feared. He recalled meeting them for the first time when they were small girls, only coming into their power. Even then they’d been indomitable forces.

“I remember visiting Crete the day of your mother’s wedding,” Victor said. That peaked Yuuri’s interest only slightly as he glanced towards his host shortly. “She was to be Queen of a kingdom that had remained loyal to me for centuries. She was also a demigod, just as I was once. It was only natural I’d make an appearance to offer the bride a wedding gift.”

“You gave my mother a gift?” Yuuri’s head tilted, some light returning to his voice, some colour blazing back into his eyes.

“Offered her one,” Victor corrected. “She could have asked for anything she wished: power, riches, beauty, freedom. Instead she asked for my help with a potion. Her magic was not potent enough to complete the mixture. She needed my blood to finish it.”

“What did the potion do?”

Victor grinned ear-to-ear. He could still see the eastern witch smiling like a cat, her teeth still filed into sharp edges as was custom in her homeland. He always found it a great pity that Minos had forced her to file them short and flat. He had thought her sharp smiles had been dazzling. “Were the drinker to commit adultery they would ejaculate scorpions.”

The air went stale for a moment before laughter bubbled up from the son of the wily witch. His laugh was a precious sound Victor hadn’t heard before. He had seen him smile wryly and warily, heard him weep, listened to him breath in his sleep and hum in contentment. Never had he heard his Yuuri laugh. He was determined to hear that sound as much as possible from now until forever.

“That does sounds like her,” Yuuri tapered off into a chuckle, red joyous heat filling his cheeks. “She always got her way. Well, almost always.”

Almost indeed. Victor cringed to think of the curse that befell the woman and her family. He was a master of all manner of cruel, maddening torture but even he would never consider the punishment Poseidon had sentenced her to: the Bull of Crete and its spawn. He knew that little girl he had met on an island would have never wanted that for herself: sold, locked away in a opulent cage and…

He couldn’t even think of it.

“I hope this is a happier place for you,” Victor said, voice lowering, leaning over the table and speaking as clearly as he could for Yuuri. The Prince looked up, smile fading, face still flushed, brown-honey eyes still warm and soft. Victor couldn’t help but reach over to cradle his hand gently in his own. “I hope to give you what you want, Erastis. Everything you want.”

That earned him the turn of his love’s lips. He seemed receptive but doubtful. “How would you ever know what I want?”

The God opened his mouth to answer - memories, vows, questions, confessions all attempted to spill from his lips - but he was interrupted by the opening of the door.

“Was there something you needed?” Phichit kneeled as he entered, bowing and smiling before sending a look towards the human royal. “More food? Wine?”

“Yes,” Yuuri answered, confident as he rose to his feet. Victor felt the soft hand slipping from his and it tore his chest from the inside. “If you could ask the kitchen for a loukaniko platter to be sent to the gardens that would be wonderful. I think I’ll take the rest of my meal alone today.”

Phichit looked between his lords quizzically before bowing out of the room. That had not been what the young man expected, evidently.

“Leaving so soon?” Victor asked, trying to keep his voice steady, away from the tone of begging he so desperately wanted to speak in.

“Yes,” Yuuri said, all vulnerability draining from him as he walked towards the door, only turning to bow his head once. “Good day, Dionysus.”

So Victor was left, the ghost of Yuuri’s hand in his still weighing on his palms, all the words he wished to say dissipating. What was the phrase he had heard the wise women of Thebes muttering so long ago? One step forward, two steps back. That was how he and Yuuri seemed to be walking this trail. What had he done wrong? Was Yuuri not happy, not loved, not provided for? What was it he could do?

The door opened a second time, swinging to reveal not a respectful servants figure but a large tall one instead. Chris sauntered in, a long chiton draped over him, covering his goat’s legs, as was the man’s custom.

“I passed Phichit in the hall. He suggested you might be a little...lonely,” his friend grinned, kneeling at the table and picking at Yuuri’s unfinished plate of fruit and glazed meat. “Your man left you alone and untended to I hear.”

Victor groaned. That was the least of his worries. Loneliness, frustration, want, these had were things Victor had felt before. These were manageable. Specks of dust in a desert were more singularly interesting than these issues. Victor glared daggers at Chris as he ignored the God, munching absently at food and waiting for his companion to unload the burden of his worries.

“He’s not _mine_ ,” Victor emphasized. He spat the possessive word in disgust. “And I don’t need tending.”

“Apologies,” Chris laughed, settling into the warm cushions where Yuuri had been just moments ago. “I’m not here to antagonize you. I’m just teasing a little.”

“Please don’t,” Victor huffed. He took a sip of his wine, letting the buzzing of the aged liquid sink into the folds of his mind - a brief distraction. “He doesn’t belong to me.”

“I know,” Chris said, nodding, features melting into an expression of something more genuine. Chris had been with Victor for many years. Before he was named as a God, before he was worshipped, before he was anything more than a scared, immortal pup wandering the woods and killing small animals he had only wanted to hold. If anyone was able to give him good counsel it would be Chris. “I know you’d never wish to own him. But does Yuuri know that?”

Victor’s eyes shot up at the thought. “What do you mean?”

“Yuuri has always belonged to someone: the Gods, Minos, Theseus. His mother and his siblings and the Minotaur he was charged with caring for were the same,” Chris’s face became solemn as stirred at Victor’s mind, creating a tempest in the heart of his friend. “Now here you are charging him with a new thing to care for, a new job to do, a new role to play. What are you but a master to him? Another Theseus but this time with the power to do much worse than abandon him.”

It was true. The molten pit in Victor’s gut told him as much. He had been cruel. Yuuri had not asked to be taken here. He had not asked to be made a lord to theses people or a father to his child. He had asked for something much simpler. Victor had been the one to assume this would be the answer to that wish from long ago. Bit he had never asked, had he? He’d only done as he pleased.

“What am I to do, then?” Victor said, voice husky and cracking. This was his duty, his mission, his only desire. He needed to fulfill this wish.

“What humans do, I suppose,” Chris shrugged. “When I sought after Masumi, may the Gods rest his soul, I had to watch carefully what the mortals did to win affections. They court each other.”

Victor hummed in acknowledgment. Chris and Masumi had been inseparable before the mortal partner’s death. It seemed only natural that this advice might bring him closer to desired outcome. “What are the rituals for this in Crete?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Chris shrugged. “Perhaps you could ask Yuuri.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say, just in case anyone's wondering, that Hiroko and Toshiya are not Yuuri's parents in the AU. The backstory of Ariadne!Yuuri just doesn't fit those two. Instead I substituted them with the actual mythical figures from the original tale: Minos and Pasiphaë. 
> 
> Anyways, I know this update is a long time coming. I hope it was worth the wait though. I'm hoping I'll be able to get a lot of work done over the Holidays so that the next chapter can reach you guys sooner. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you all enjoyed the latest chapter. I think you'll like what's coming up next. ;)
> 
> P.S. I didn't make up the thing about the scorpions. That's actually a part of the OG story.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this first chapter! Feel free to share your thoughts, leave a kudos or subscribe if you want more.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr here: https://thewonderfulkatsukinikifrovs.tumblr.com/


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